Nightmare Harvest
by IrenaAdler
Summary: Don finds out Charlie has been having nightmares. This is a sequel to my story, The Quiet Between. It takes place after the episodes Harvest and Rampage.


Don snapped awake and reached for his gun. His gun wasn't where it should be and he came the rest of the way awake, his heart pounding. _Couch, papers, folders, TV._ He scanned the darkness for what had woken him, senses straining. His brain pieced together that he was at his childhood house and had fallen asleep on the couch while reading through paperwork.

The sound came again and Don stumbled to his feet. It was a frightened moan, and it was coming from upstairs. He slipped through the front room and grabbed his gun from the entry table. Gun ready, he crept up the stairs, listening hard for any clues to the direction and cause of that moan.

A soft whimper and Don turned to the right. _Charlie's room._ A thousand scenarios ran through his mind as he stepped carefully along the carpeted hall. _A burglar, a heart attack, a kidnapper. _He reached Charlie's door and pressed his ear to it. Nothing but that soft whimpering. Gently, he turned the door handle and eased the door open a crack. He slid inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the faint moonlight. Charlie was alone in the room, lying on his bed. Don checked the window - locked - then set his gun down on the chest-of-drawers and focused on Charlie.

Charlie was tangled up in his blankets, his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. Whimpers escaped between his lips.

Don crouched next to the bed. "Charlie?" he said quietly. "Charlie, wake up."

Charlie's eyes shot open and he flailed out. He wasn't seeing Don, but something terrible only visible to him.

"Charlie!" Don said again, gripping his shoulder and shaking it. "Charlie, it's Don."

"No, no, no," Charlie moaned.

"It's Don." Don touched Charlie's feverish forehead. "I'm here."

The door creaked and Don looked up. His father stood in the doorway, his face pale.

"It's okay, Dad," Don said. "I think he's just having a nightmare."

"Do you want me to—"

"I got it," Don smiled. "Go back to bed."

His father smiled back and looked relieved. Had Charlie been having a lot of nightmares lately? He'd had them regularly as a kid, but Don had thought he'd gotten over that. His father shut the door and Don heard him padding down the hall.

Don looked back at Charlie, whose eyes were open and focused on him.

"Donnie?" Charlie asked. His voice sounded five years old.

"Yeah, I'm here, buddy," Don said. His legs were starting to ache from his awkward crouched position. "Scoot over."

Charlie blinked at him then moved to the other side of the bed. Don kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard.

"You have a nightmare?" Don asked, examining his brother's tired face.

"Yeah," Charlie mumbled, "They cut my kidneys out but I was still alive but I couldn't say anything and a guy standing there with an ice bucket and he was gonna take my heart."

"Oh, Charlie," Don sighed. "Are you still thinking about that organ donor card? You didn't have to sign it."

"You won't let them take out my heart?" Charlie asked, his voice still that of a small child.

"No, of course not. Your heart's gonna stay right where it belongs."

"Donnie." Charlie said and laid his head on Don's lap, wrapping his hands around Don's right thigh.

Don stiffened, looking down at him. He abruptly realized that he was in bed with another grown man. Then he shook his head and relaxed again. _No, it's my baby brother._

"Nobody's gonna get your heart, buddy," he said, smoothing back Charlie's sweat-soaked curls. "Or your kidneys or your appendix or anything else."

"Promise?" Charlie asked.

"Promise." Don smiled. "Your big brain is gonna go to science, but only after you're done using it, when you're a hundred and twelve."

"Hunnerd and twelve isn't prime number," Charlie murmured.

"No, it's not," Don said soothingly and shifted position

Charlie gripped his thigh tighter. "Don't go!"

"Okay, okay," Don grumbled. "At least let me get comfortable?"

Charlie mumbled something but released his leg. Don scooted down until he was laying flat on the bed. He pulled Charlie's pillow closer until he could rest his head on part of it.

As soon as he stopped moving, Charlie swooped in, cuddling tight against his side.

"Whoa, whoa," Don said, then sighed and let Charlie lay his head on his shoulder. "It's okay, Charlie. I'm here."

Charlie snuggled against him and soon was breathing deeply.

Closing his eyes, Don flashed back to the moment a few weeks ago when he had woken up on his parent's couch, with a hangover and with Charlie sleeping by his side. It was the morning after Ryan McCall had shot up the FBI office while Charlie was there. Don had vaguely remembered explaining to Charlie that he wouldn't let anyone shoot him, and that he needed to have his arm around Charlie when he explained it. That morning Don had extracted himself quickly from his brother's embrace and neither of them had mentioned it later.

Now, Don looked down at Charlie's sleeping face. _He looks so young._

Don had wasted so much of his childhood resenting Charlie and even sometimes hating him. Charlie always made him feel stupid and slow, and his parents seemed to spend all their time and energy on Charlie. It was always _Charlie is special_ and _Charlie needs more attention_ and _You can get your own supper, right Don?_

It was only as an adult, and living far away from Charlie, that Don realized he'd been proud of the kid. Very few people could claim a sibling smarter than most of the human race. Don had spent his whole childhood having a curly-haired shadow and sometimes it hadn't been so bad to have his adoring little brother carry his baseball equipment. Don had pushed himself in sports in a large part because Charlie didn't play any. Charlie was too busy developing his mind. On the baseball field, no one compared Don to the "smart Eppes boy" or teased him that all the brains in the family had gone to Charlie.

As an adult, Don also realized that he was a smart person himself. People were impressed by his thinking, his intuition. In the FBI, he'd found a place to use both his brains and his physical skills.

Coming back to LA and working with Charlie, sometimes Don felt stupid again. Charlie never meant to make him feel that way. Charlie had always been really good about that – once he figured out that everyone didn't see the world in numbers the way he did. But Charlie would get enthusiastic and his words would shoot right over Don's head. Don heard all the same old jokes about his whiz kid brother – No, Charlie is not adopted, an alien, or a CalSci science experiment.

Charlie murmured and shifted against Don. Charlie's forehead wrinkled, his eyelashes fluttering.

"Shhh," Don said, stroking Charlie's hair in a way that he remembered his mother doing. "Shhh."

Charlie sighed and settled back against his shoulder.

When had these nightmares started up again? Don had the sinking feeling that they'd started after Charlie had come work for him at the FBI. Charlie might talk about how he'd consulted for the NSA, the DOD, the CDC, and maybe agencies that Don didn't even know existed. But he bet they'd kept Charlie buffered from the ugly things, just giving him the numbers to play with.

_Me? I dump him right in the middle of case about a serial rapist turned killer._ Of all people, Charlie should have been able to trust his brother to protect him.

What if it was too late? Even if Don never called him in on another case, Charlie had seen enough horrors to cause a lifetime of nightmares. Don certainly had plenty of fodder himself for nightmares.

And if Charlie didn't work with him anymore, Don would miss him. Charlie always brought enthusiasm and optimism to every situation. Without Don realizing it, Charlie had become part of his team at the FBI. A part not always needed, but integral nonetheless. He and Charlie were learning to work together and discovered that they were a lot alike after all. What had Kim told Charlie? _One part exuberance, two parts obsession._

Don let his eyes drift closed. Charlie seemed to be sleeping peacefully now. Don would talk to him in the morning, find out how long he'd been having nightmares and what Don could do about it.

"Don?" a soft voice said.

Don blinked. He must have dropped off to sleep. His eyes found the clock and saw that he'd been asleep for two hours. He looked down at Charlie, still curled against his shoulder. Charlie was awake and staring at him.

"Oh hey, buddy." Don said.

"What happened?" Charlie asked. _As in, why are you in my bed?_

"You were having a nightmare. I was downstairs and heard you cry out."

Charlie didn't move away from him and Don was content to let him lay there, sharing his warmth.

"Oh no," Charlie grumbled. "Did I wake up Dad again?"

"Again?" Don asked. "Has this been happening a lot?"

"Sometimes," Charlie muttered.

"Charlie …" Don said. "Every night?"

"Not … every night."

Don groaned. "Oh, baby bro, what did I get you into?"

"I'm not a baby," Charlie protested automatically.

"That's it. I'm not calling you in on any more cases."

"No!" Charlie said, pulling away from him and sitting up. "Don't say that."

"Charlie, you just had a bad nightmare because of a case I brought you in on."

"Maybe." Charlie shrugged. "But it's worth it."

Don ran his hand through his hair. "How can you say that? You've been shot at, threatened, and now can't sleep without nightmares."

"Yeah, but we got the bad guys. We always get the bad guys."

"I can get the bad guys without you," Don said gently. "You've done a lot of good work already. Let it go."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Like you'd listen if I said the exact same thing to you, 'Don, you've caught enough bad guys, you can stop now.'"

"It's not the same," Don said. "I chose this life. You didn't."

"Maybe I'm choosing it now," Charlie said. "Maybe I'm an adrenaline junkie just like my brother."

"You get your adrenaline through equations and numbers. You don't need to be out there, in the line of fire."

"I have better odds of getting in a car crash than getting shot by a sniper. Do you want me to stop driving?"

Don shook his head. He'd never won arguments with Charlie. It was yet another thing that drove him crazy. "Charlie, can we talk about this in the morning?" _When I've had a chance to construct my defense._

"No," Charlie said stubbornly.

"Charlie …" Don said, trying for a reasonable tone of voice.

"Don't 'Charlie' me," Charlie snapped. "I'm an adult. I can make my own decisions."

"Is this a rational decision, though?" Don asked, hoping to appeal to Charlie's logical side. "Can you do a cost-risk analysis and tell me that you working with me is really the best use of your time?"

"Yes."

Don let out a hiss of exasperation. It was like arguing with a brilliant four-year-old. Don sat up and swung his legs out over the side of the bed.

Charlie grabbed his wrist. "Wait."

"What now?" Don grumbled.

"Do … do you have to go?"

"You think you're gonna have the nightmare again?"

"I don't know, maybe. But I won't if you're here."

Don heaved a sigh. Once again Charlie had wrapped him around his little finger. Dad had said that Charlie would do anything for Don if Don just asked him. Dad had neglected to add that Don would do anything for Charlie, even if he wanted to throttle him sometimes.

Lying back down, Don held out his arm. Charlie smiled sheepishly and lay down next to him, setting his head on the same spot on Don's shoulder he always did. Don reached over Charlie and pulled the blankets into a sort of order.

Don closed his eyes. "I can't be here every night, you know."

"I know," Charlie said sleepily. "But at least tonight I'll get a good night's sleep."

"Okay," Don said softly. "Sleep well."

"You too," Charlie mumbled.

Don smiled to himself as Charlie fell quickly to sleep, like a toddler dropping off in the middle of playing. Don's paperwork was waiting for him downstairs, but it would still be there tomorrow.

Maybe he could get Charlie in to see a therapist. _Yeah, that worked really well when he was a kid._ According to his parents, Charlie would spend the whole very expensive therapy session explaining information theory or fluid dynamics to the poor therapist. The only person that Don was aware of that Charlie had ever really opened up to was Mom, and she was gone now.

Tomorrow Don would try talking to Charlie again. _Not like I'm gonna have any more success._ But he had to try. Charlie was unhappy and Don would go to Hell and beyond to help him.

"Hang in there, baby bro," he said softly to the sleeping Charlie. "I'm gonna fix this, I promise."


End file.
